I’ve only kissed one boy before, and it was significantly different from this. During my years of perfected avoidance of people in general, I’d done such a superb job that the only guy I ever kissed was someone I met in a mall even farther away than the one where I met Jordan. It was a couple of years ago. We’d flirted, hung out together for one afternoon, and he knew nothing about me. I had told him my name was Buffy and he’d actually believed me. His kiss was kind of sloppy and he tasted like popcorn.
Jordan is completely different. He’s obviously surprised, because he falls one step to the side, but it only takes him one soft kiss to recover. By the time I’m trying to decide if this was a mistake and if I should pull away, he slams that thought clean out of my head by kissing me back—and doing one hell of a job at it.
Jordan’s kiss makes mine look like a finger-painted portrait next to a Picasso. He wraps one strong arm around my waist and the other around my back and up to my shoulders. His fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of my neck and he pulls me off my feet and tight against him. My hands, which were behind his neck, end up in his hair as my arms cling around his shoulders for support. His lips are soft, and each kiss makes my entire body vibrate with a need to be closer to him. The movement of his lips over mine seems calculated to steal my breath away, and it’s clear that I’m woefully overmatched in this department. In chess terms, I’m a novice and he’s the equivalent of a grand master. His arms crush me against him with blinding urgency, but his kiss seems to think it has all the time in the world. It is slow, sweet, and I never want it to stop.
I scratch the back of his neck lightly with my nails. He groans and I brush my fingertips through his dark, soft hair. He smells so good, but his kiss tastes even better. The fingers from the hand on my waist slide up across my ribs and it tickles. I laugh involuntarily against his mouth and he pulls back, grinning down at me.
“What is this? You’re ticklish?” His eyes have a wicked sparkle to them now that makes me feel like dissolving into a puddle. “The incredibly tough and unbreakable Riley Beckett has a weakness?”
He tickles my ribs with his hands again and I wiggle against him, laughing and trying to escape. Then he moves his head down and snuggles his face in against my neck. I freeze as tingles zing through my body from head to toe. I can’t find words to respond with anymore. Jordan chuckles low and soft as he drops a few kisses up my neck and chin, then kisses my lips again.
This time I pull back and rest my head against his chest before I lose my mind completely. My heart is racing, and I have to catch my breath, but finally I respond by carefully lowering a few of my own barricades.
“It would seem that Riley has more than one weakness.” I look up at him with a self-conscious shrug. “How’s that for incredibly tough?”
I hadn’t thought it possible, but Jordan’s grin spreads even wider and he lifts me off my feet again in a tight hug. “She seems pretty invincible to me.”
I close my eyes and hug him back. For just that moment, I allow myself to pretend that there is no ticking clock, no truth to find, and no father sitting in prison—instead, it is just Jordan and me.
And invincible seems like the perfect word to describe this feeling.
32
I STOP STARING AT MY NOTES, stretch my neck from side to side, and look at the time on my phone. It’s almost ten o’clock now. Jordan and I have been sitting in my car at the park, going over our notes about Daddy’s case for more than an hour, and it doesn’t feel like we’ve gotten anywhere.
“What are we missing?” I finally ask. “Is it crazy to think there may just be one fact somewhere that will tell us the truth?”
Jordan slumps forward and looks at the dashboard glove box in front of him. “I don’t know, Riley.” He hesitates for a full minute, looking torn before asking, “Do you want me to talk to my father about it?”
“No,” I respond, perhaps too quickly, and Jordan waits for me to explain why, watching me closely. I don’t say anything else because I don’t want Jordan to talk to Chief Vega until we either have irrefutable evidence or we are almost out of time. Until then, I’d prefer the chief to know nothing about me involving his son in all of this. But I really don’t feel like explaining that to Jordan.
“I don’t want to either,” he says after a moment. “But I want you to know that if you ask, I will do it.”
“Thank you, but I don’t think that’s the best option—at least not yet.” My phone rings and I pull it out of my pocket. The screen flashes the number for Mr. Masters’s office before I answer.
“I’m surprised you’re still at work this late, Mr. Masters.”
“I’m sure there are a lot of things I do that would surprise you.” A twitch of his humor actually comes through the drawl and I smile to myself under the parking lot lights. He continues, “Is everything okay? Is Mr. Vega with you?”
“Yes to both, and please no lectures. I’m glad you called, though. You told me to let you know if I found anything interesting—” I plan to go on, but he speaks before I get the chance.